A few years ago James and I were walking along the cliffs of a Cornish seaside town and I glanced out to sea at a sailboat on the horizon.

“We could just buy a boat and sail round the world”.

That sentence changed everything. He quite rightly laughed at me, as at that time I had never even set foot on a sailboat. But then, as I attended more and more sail training and theory courses, he began to realise that I was serious.

In the beginning I knew nothing about life aboard a yacht, let alone how to control and manoeuvre one. The enthusiasm that I had for the teaching I sought out was so that I could bring my knowledge up to match that of my boyfriend. I wanted us to be equals on the boat, despite the fact that he had more experience than me, in order to be able to support each other in this floating life. Before our Atlantic crossing I even remember telling the two friends who crewed with us that we were interchangeable as skipper.

Two years in, and the added development of becoming parents aboard, has made us both dramatically reconsider this idea and I find myself in the unexpected position of really embracing the differences in our genders.

For starters James is quite simply far stronger and fitter than I am. He is physically bigger, taller and can endure much more strain. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no wimp and I can do winch grinding with the best of them, but it would be silly and pointless for me to attempt to match his strength. So certain jobs on board have naturally always fallen to him. When reefing it’s always him going up to the mast, if we’re lifting the dinghy he’s the one taking the weight of the engine and when the windlass breaks and needs to be hefted over to the nearest mechanic it’s definitely not me doing the heaving.

But not all our responsibilities are as you might expect. I handle all the passage planning and navigation, it’s me that’s in charge of dealing with most electronics, I’m now always in control of where and how we anchor and if you hear our boat name over the VHF or SSB it’s going to be me saying it. James also, surprisingly to some, rules over the kitchen and is a really fantastic chef. I can cook too but his food is just so much better than mine that, over time, we’ve fallen into a natural rhythm whereby he handles the meals and I wash them up. Frankly there are just things that each of us can do better than the other and why shouldn’t it be so?

Other tasks have always been tackled by us together; engine filter, belt and oil changes, sail flaking and rope coiling, even the taking apart of the heads plumbing can be turned into a much more manageable duty when there are four hands working on it. We’re also aware of just how fortunate we are that this trip, our exploration of the globe by boat, has been a plan that we made jointly.

Yet our new status as cruising parents has made certain inevitable changes to our established systems and we’ve weirdly become quite comfortable with it.

It started with the pregnancy itself, as I remained on board and we kept sailing up until I was 32 weeks. I was fortunate enough to not suffer from morning sickness, however James gradually had to take over more and more of the work on board as I got a bit slower and clumsier. Whenever I pointed out to him that I felt bad that he was doing everything he would remark that I was doing everything else, everything necessary for our child to grow.

We tell people how lucky we feel we are to have stumbled into a lifestyle which enables us to both be around for our daughter all of the time. But the routine of the father going out to work and the mother staying at home with the baby does still have a resonance even in this regime as boats need constant attention, maintenance and responsiveness. It’s almost as if we have two children already, it’s just that one of them is 42 feet and a lot more troublesome!

The majority of our everyday existence now falls into James managing various issues with the boat whilst I take care of Rocket. We’re still able to tag-team on certain tasks and talk through them enough to share the mental burden of each job. I have to handle my duties in bursts as I may get interrupted to feed our daughter at any point. So things that can be easily stopped are good for me to do: laundry, washing up, researching. Anything involving chemicals becomes a bit trickier, although I do still handle the majority of the domestic cleaning.

After the Atlantic crossing but a year and a half before the baby I turned to James and said that we needed to rethink the whole two skippers concept. I decided that he needed to be the captain and that I was comfortable with that as one of us needed to have more clout if we ever disagreed and came to a stalemate. Of course we’ve had moments where I’ve challenged that authority:

Me: I think we should move. We’re anchored too close to that boat.

James: No we’re not. It’s fine.

Me: Yes we are.

James: No we’re not.

<bump>

James: Ok, maybe we were.

And I’ll admit that I’m far from being above the I-told-you-so smugness that follows such incidents.

But most of the time, for us, I found that it’s actually a lot simpler and easier to have one named boat boss as our greatest strength as a sailing team comes from the fact that we complement each other so well with our differences. He’s the sailing natural while I was and still am the keen student.

Only now I’m a little closer to being a graduate while I’m also adapting to my new life as a mum; a mariner mum at that.

Like any new parent adjusting to their role both James and I have had some uncertain moments. But it’s par for the course and a necessary part of feeling more confident in the choices we make for our child.

We feel confident that being able to both be around Rocket all the time gives her a great sense of security and happiness and we’re certain of just how fortunate we are to have stumbled into a lifestyle that allows us to do so.

But, as we are discovering, life with an infant on board is like getting onto the boat for the first time all over again. Getting used to negotiating your way around the boat while it’s moving at anchor or on passage is like learning to dance in time with the rhythm of music. Once you’ve got the hang of it, it’s second nature. Yet, that instinctive bob and sway is connected to your own weight and balance. The addition of 12 pounds of bouncing baby inevitably changes your equilibrium and it takes a while to regain your steadiness.

Likewise, with anything that needs repair or replacement on the boat we balance out the pros and cons. Can we afford it? If we take the financial hit how do we level out and cut back our spending elsewhere?

The two are very much interconnected when it comes to our dinghy.

Ahhhhh, dinghy. He was once a noble inflatable chariot of a thing, bought second hand in the UK and the subject of awe by one who saw him in St Kitts (“You got a boat to get to your boat?!?”). Alas, no more. Having survived his accidental arson attack this January our beloved dinghy has now fallen prey to the inescapable demise caused by 2 solid years of tropical sun exposure. We happily unpacked him upon leaving the marina and observed that he now has more holes than a cheese grater – not a desirable feature in what should be an airtight vessel. To add to this the oars are now a rather motley, mis-matched, half-broken set which leaves the whole thing looking rather sorry for itself.

So now the balancing act. Were it still just the two of us we’d probably just continue to patch, make do and mend with the old one.

However, when coming back to our freshly anchored boat the other day we were confronted by the tail end of tropical storm Sonia causing trouble in the bay. The system was directly to the West of us, meaning that there was nothing between the open sea kicked up by the storm and the shoreline except our anchorage. Suffice to say that as we approached and saw our boat literally surfing breakers at anchor we decided that not only would this be the worst possible first attempt at getting back on board with our babe but that we would also most definitely not be spending the night onboard either. A rapidly deflating and sinking dinghy was definitely a contributing factor to that decision as we stalled, like a horse refusing to jump, and limped back to the marina docks in our soggy rubber duck.

We hunkered down in a friend’s boat for the night, again confident in our new-found parenting skills. Plus the verdict is in: we’re replacing the dinghy.

A short note to announce that we’re free! After over 4 and a half months of marina time (our longest ever) as we combined sitting out Pacific hurricane season with increasing our crew number we are at long last back on the hook at anchor.

And the view at sunrise sure does look good.

Our two year anniversary meant that I wanted to go back over our previous posts on statistics and see how we’ve done. There are some nice easy figures here that speak for themselves and others that need a little explanation. Easy ones first then:

Total trip so far number of weeks 104

Total trip so far number of days 730

Distance covered (nautical miles) 10,810

Total days sailed on 224 (31% of total days)

Total nights on passage at sea 88 (12% of total days)

Total number of nights in marinas 235 (32% of total days: 140 in yr 2, 95 in yr 1)

Total number of nights at anchor 407 (56% of total days: 203 in yr 2, 204 in yr 1)

Total nights spent away from boat 86 (12% of total days: 79 in yr 2, 7 in yr 1)

Total engine hours 994 (427 in yr 2, 567 in yr 1)

Total number of places stopped at 148

Total number of anchorages 134

Number of countries / principalities 26

Total number of times aground 2 (in yr 1)

Total number of dragging incidents 2 (in yr 1)

Total number of collisions 1 (in yr 1)

Total number of sails damaged 2 (in yr 1)

Number of babies had 1

Number of Mexicans living aboard 1

Number of transoceanic canals 1

Number of dinghies set fire to 1

Ok, so some of these are a bit silly but all true. Interesting to see that we’ve spent the same number of nights at sea as we have done off the boat. The huge leaps in marina nights and nights away from the boat are a direct result of having our first child this year. Also, fingers crossed, we’ve not been quite so drama-filled this year as groundings, collisions and sail-ripping incidents haven’t increased. And, surprisingly, even though it felt like all we did was motor this year, we actually had more engine hours in year 1. Also, I hasten to add, that the setting fire to the dinghy incident was very much accidental. It’s important to note that floating paper fire lanterns and beautiful anchorages at New Year are a bad combination…

How did we make out on the money side of things?

Total average weekly spend on living expenses £171.50 = £8,918pa

(2 people) (£172 yr 2 £171 yr 1)

Total average weekly spend boat maintenance, kit & insurances £100 = £5,200pa

(£89 yr 2 £111 yr 1)

Total average weekly spend £357.50 = £18,590pa

(£402 yr 2 £313 yr 1)

The figures for living costs cover all our food provisions, eating out, household groceries, clothes and general travel expenses. It also covers all our fuel costs, standard marina costs, customs and country cruising permit charges, and charts and navigational aids. Boat maintenance covers anything spent out on the boat, things that were replaced, upgraded or required materials to mend.

The total spend includes everything else. Year two has some fairly major ‘everything elses’ such as the medical costs associated with having our baby girl in Mexico including the extra marina time, travel and accommodation needed and the various bits of paperwork for her dual citizenship; our transit of the Panama canal; a new (ish) computer and a new headsail.

Why are these figures important? Well, we’re doing this purely for the experiential value of the journey and it helps immensely in working out if we can keep going for another year (or two, or three!) to have a precise understanding of what we need to keep us going.

It may prove controversial to be so open about our expenditure. However, I find it really interesting that most people outside of the cruising community think of the sailing life as very glamorous and exotic. The reality, for us at least, is that it’s a lifestyle that is only sustainable with a lot of hard work and keeping a close eye on the pennies. But, as an experience, it’s proven to be exceptional value for money.

Today is October 8th, the anniversary of the day that we threw off the docklines and said farewell to the UK. Since then a lot has happened and we wanted to take a moment to acknowledge everyone who has been supportive and encouraging of our journey and exploits so far.

For an added touch of nostalgia here we are on the day we left, almost unrecognisable as it's probably the last time we wore so many clothes. And, in the second photo, two tiny figures on the cliff waving a banner are the last two family members waving goodbye.

So thank you for your messages, thoughts and goodwill. We don't regret a single moment of the last two years and cannot wait to see what adventures year three brings.

When our little daughter, Rocket, was only four weeks old we had to unexpectedly fly to Mexico City and I found myself in the rather bizarre position of breastfeeding her whilst walking to join James in a queue at the airport.

Yes, we have a baby on a boat, in Mexico and we spent the first five weeks of her life living in a hostel in Guadalajara. In fact, since her birth, there have been quite a few adventures: she’s flown in five different aeroplanes; she’s been on a speedboat, a houseboat, a pontoon boat and a kayak; she’s met goats, cats, horses, dogs, geckos, iguanas and deer; we’ve had her splash about in a plunge pool, a swimming pool, a bath, a bucket, a lake in Canada and even the Pacific Ocean.

This is most definitely a life less ordinary for an infant and none of it has been all that intentional. I’d like to make it clear that we’re not aiming at some cavalier existence for our newest crew member, in fact it’s the contrary. She is simply with us whatever we are doing.

We knew that starting a family whilst travelling would mean that we’d need a lot of humour and the ability to stay relaxed. There will not always be a changing table available and, if there is, it may only be in the ladies’ loos. I won’t always have an element of privacy or the perfect tranquil location in which to feed my baby. So, we choose to roll with it, the result of which is that her needs are met sooner, even if it means that she has a nappy change in the middle of the woods when we’re hiking or gets fed while we’re riding a bus.

If you read the post with our statistics of our first year on board you would have seen that we spent a total of 4 nights away from the boat. This year it’s a different story.

In total we will have been off the boat for a whopping 11 weeks, this meant leaving the boat all by her lonesome – a lot.

So why the change of tune?

Our passages up the Pacific coast of Mexico have been hard going as they were mostly into wind and against current. We burned a lot of diesel, which frankly is rather galling when you’re a sailing vessel. So, in order to balance out these somewhat frustrating journeys we took to doing some inland travel and exploring some of the cities and natural beauty of Central America.

Leaving the boat is a bit like going on holiday for the majority of people, except for a few key differences. Normally, when on holiday, you don’t tend to think about what’s happening with the weather back home. In fact, it is usually the case that you went away specifically to escape the crummy weather that you were having back home and have no wish to be reminded of it. Also, there is never a thought in your mind that whilst you’re on vacation your house will accidentally slide down the street and stop, leaning over onto its side, in a nearby park. Or sink for that matter.

But deserting your boat can mean just this. There is a side of you that is rejoicing in the present and embracing the proper break and adventure that you are having. But, the other side, the good, vigilant boat-mama in you, will always be checking the weather online before your personal emails.

This last year we’ve left our floating house on a mooring ball up a river in El Salvador and at anchor in a lagoon in Barra de Navidad, Mexico as well as the marina time we’ve had to visit Oaxaca, Guadalajara and even fly to Canada. Although, it should be noted, that even leaving your boat in a marina isn’t worry free when it’s peak storm season; a ton of rain can fall in a short period of time, a lightning strike could fry all your electric systems and that’s before you even begin to talk about the damage potential of true hurricane strength winds.

Suffice to say it’s a mixture of a gamble and calculated risk each time we lock the door and step away from the dock. The likelihood of storms means we double up the lines to strengthen the boat’s attachment to the marina slip, if left at anchor we throw out a lot of extra chain and, every time we say goodbye, we close all the seacocks which are the through-hull fittings and the most likely point of water ingress.

Perhaps leaving her more often has made it easier to get faster at applying all these safety measures as we’ve been pleasantly surprised each time that on our return there are no suspect damp patches, no insect infestations or mutant mould growths, no leaks, no charred-looking masthead and, most importantly, there has always so far been a boat to return to!

Whilst we happily wax lyrical about all things Mexican, (see previous post) we’re aware that our views are not shared by everyone.

When mentioning that his future granddaughter would be born in Mexico, James’s father was met with reactions of horror as well as enthusiasm. Likewise we know several cruisers who adore it here but cannot convince their families back home that their presence in Mexico is happy and enjoyable and doesn’t involve living in constant fear of drug crime or violence.

The picture painted of a nation by certain news media is subject to speculation. However, our first direct experience with what could be considered bias against the Mexican occurred when organizing our trip to Canada.

As British citizens we don’t require a visa to travel to Canada although we do need one for the USA. Plus, the cost of a visa for a Mexican to even transit through the states was prohibitively high for us. So, because of this, our plan was to fly direct, with our daughter using her Mexican passport. We imagined we’d need a visa anyway for her to be allowed entry to Canada but we had no idea just what this would involve.

Unforeseen hurdle number one: the Canadian visa folks are staging an industrial action so visa applications will take a minimum of 5-6 weeks. This somewhat scuppered our plans from the get-go. However, we reasoned we had maybe just enough time to squeeze through the process.

But, unforeseen hurdle number two: the application itself and the documents required. These included a detailed travel itinerary, proof of language skills, proof of intention to return to Mexico, photocopies of bank documents and proof of employment or economical support.

‘Um… what?’ was my response to both the voice at the other end of the visa helpline and in person to the good folks at the visa application centre. ‘She’s only 4 weeks old, she doesn’t even know where her nose is!’ I quantified, insisting that our daughter had no intention of starting up a business, taking Canadian jobs or causing any mischief while we were there.

Then we were told that as she counts as a dependent then we could prove how we support her economically. We’d have to pay for the application, send it in, hope that there was enough time in spite of the strike and keep our fingers crossed that they’d approve all our supporting documents. ‘Fine’, I say, ‘except will it be acceptable that, although financially viable, neither of us is in full-time employment as we are living on a boat and sailing round the world?’

Silence and blank stares.

Ok, we finally realise the power of a British passport as a visa application for us is normally a box-ticking affair, pay your money and go deal. This was clearly a trickier business and despite our requests for a bit of humanity to cut through the bureaucracy for such a young minor we were stuck.

One panicked phone call to the British Embassy, an impromptu flight to Mexico City and the issuing of an emergency travel document (a one-off passport for a single trip) ended up being the solution and all three of us flew as British citizens. Funny what a stark contrast there is in the attitudes towards the two nationalities.

Nineteen years ago two young men got drunk in a bar in San Diego and came up with the brilliant idea of flying down to Mexico, buying horses and riding them from Leon to Veracruz. One of these men was James and the few months that he spent on horseback, negotiating the diverse landscape, filled him with a real fondness for Mexico and its people.

All these years later we again find ourselves in this place, this time with the indelible connection of our first child being born here. The onset of hurricane season means that the boat is in down mode, sails off, wheel off and numerous jobs started and not yet finished which leave her totally disabled. In fact, our time in Mexico will run from June 2013 through until March 2014, when we set off for the Pacific crossing, making it the longest we will have been in any one country.

The reason for all these choices is our unadulterated delight in the place and I think it’s important to explain just why we are so positive about this country.

Firstly, the history. Our time in the Caribbean left us longing to be somewhere with an older culture. The layers of centuries of civilization are felt profoundly here; the Spanish, the Aztec, the Mayan, Zapotec and Indian each leave traces on the land, the buildings and the people. Add into that the strong Catholic influence, the animal symbolism, the ethos of the fiesta and the strange juxtaposition of humour and spirituality that is the Day of the Dead. The beauty of all these lines of personality within the Mexican spirit is that they get blurred and tangled and each is coloured by the presence of the others.

Then there is the sheer strength of vibrant creativity here. This is a place full of blinding colour, complex pattern, with a passion for craft, design and ingenuity felt in everything. A tiled floor, a building façade, an unusual use of space or a nifty solution to a problem are all settings for the inventive resourcefulness typical of Mexico.

And this is displayed in excess if possible. If something is colourful it’s more often so many dazzling, outrageous colours at once that your eyes ache from looking at it. And there is a real sense of fun and joy in the things made here. Given that we both trained in Fine Art as well as Architecture we found that after being in the comparatively ‘young’ countries in the Eastern Caribbean and all our time in Panama we had developed a real thirst for somewhere with a more aesthetic sensibility. Our time spent in the cities of Oaxaca and Guadalajara felt as though we were gorging our brains on the artistic food that we had been lacking.

Next I must mention the warmth of the people. We have only just started learning Spanish and we’re not all that good at it. But, as guests in this country, we felt that it was important to master the key phrase ‘I’m sorry that my Spanish is so bad, I am learning’. This has helped our education no end as it establishes a sense of respect, which, in turn, gets met with kindness and patience. Yes, we are still learning, but in the meantime we can muddle through thanks to the helpfulness of most Mexicans we have come into contact with. They’ve helped us with directions in cities, with processes like getting a passport, with explanations of delicious food dishes and by translating things into English that we still haven’t found the right word for. And they’ve seemed to keep a certain amount of humour when our words fail us and we resort to exaggerated gestural charades.

There’s also something innately comforting about walking down the street and having complete strangers saying hello or wishing you a good day or evening. Plus, another Mexican flavour that we’re particularly sensitive to at the moment is their great value of the family. Sure, we have a pretty cute baby, but we weren’t expecting the genuine interest that the average passer-by has in her. It’s an attentiveness equally displayed by men and women as people here really love kids; talking about them, playing with them and generally just including them in everything.

Following this: the food. How could I write without mentioning the irresistible allure of the fish taco? Mexicans just get flavour. They understand it and celebrate it in so many things they make. Many would associate Mexican food with chilli. Yet, just looking at this as one example of a food is interesting in itself as there is such a broad spectrum of strengths, tastes and looks available; from the smoky richness of the black Serrano, to the sharp piquancy of the green jalapeño or the kiss-ass spice of the fiery orange habanero. As it’s such a large country with such varied climates it seems that there is an abundance of fresh produce grown locally. All great-tasting, all cheap. For us boat folk that means that we feel as though our diet is luxurious as well as healthy, which makes a big difference when travelling on a budget.

Lastly, there is the final gift that we get from Mexico, which is that our daughter is allowed citizenship of this marvellous place as well as that of her British parents. It means that we’ll be able to take a little souvenir of the country that we love so much wherever we go.